To Feel Again
by Kendra Luehr
Summary: Their eyes locked then – a shared molten pain – and Will kissed her. She tasted like ash, like eternal damnation, and as he drank of her with fierce desperation, he slipped his hand back between her thighs and took over. This time, Abigail let him.


"To Feel Again"

Abigail's kiss was both messy and disastrous, much like she was – a perfect calm before the storm. As she fiercely twisted her face into his, Will felt no love or tenderness in her touch, only hard edges and sharp, persistent tugs at his hair. Her lips were far less gentle than he'd imagined. Not that he'd pictured them together, per se, but being empathic allowed him a certain bird's-eye view of behaviors and primal intuition.

Abigail reached for his belt.

"Don't," he whispered against her lips, shaking his head. "I'm too old for you."

A harsh, shrill laugh caught between their kiss. When she finally pulled away, her eyes were dark and glittering.

"Abigail, don't do this," she spat, fiercely unbuckling his belt. "Abigail, don't do that. Abigail, you're too young and dumb to ever have your own mind and feelings, so you couldn't possibly know what you want!"

Will quivered. "You're angry…"

"Yeah, no shit." She began unfastening his Khakis, her expression pinched and determined.

"I-I can't be what you need."

"And how do you know what I need?" she growled. "Have you been reading Dr. Bloom's notes? Have you talked with Hannibal over wine? You all think you have me figured out, but you don't – you don't."

Will's heart ached. Abigail just wanted to be understood, to forget, to be loved and respected for her faults and flaws. Why hadn't he ever given that to her? Why had he always put her on a pedestal, hoping to somehow give her the childhood he'd always wanted?

"I'm not a child," Abigail whispered, seemingly reading his thoughts.

Her hand tucked beneath his waistband, and Will's head dropped back against the couch, his hips traitorously leaning into her sharp stroking. No,he grimly thought. No, you're most certainly not.

"Why me?"

"Stop talking," she warned, halting his pleasure to lift up her skirt.

It was an odd clothing choice for her, and now one he believed to be premeditated. This hadn't been spur of the moment. She hadn't watched a movie with him on his couch, only to be moved enough to fall into his arms. She'd planned this. And when he caught a flash of naked flesh – no underwear – he knew it to be true.

"Abigail, I don't want to hurt you."

"Shut up." Digging her nails into his shoulders, Abigail sank down onto his length with such roughness, such spite that it was clear she was proving a point. I'm not delicate, I'm not glass, I just want to feel something again.

Her teeth pierced into her bottom lip, and despite the pain etched across her face, Abigail began to rock harshly into his lap, slow and forceful, until his hardness filled her to completion.

Will released a gusting breath. Growing dizzy, he grasped onto her rolling hips for a sense of stability. But the girl fucking him, he realized, was just as lost and confused as he was. If he reached for her as Stammet suggested – if he truly grasped on – they would both drown.

Struggling for breath, Will clenched his teeth and grimaced, overwhelmed as Abigail's tightness squeezed him on every thrust. Her lips brushed over his, but he wouldn't allow himself a kiss. He didn't deserve this – he didn't deserve her – and guilt-stricken, he came strongly between her thighs in only a matter of moments, worked up and shaking.

Abigail appeared disappointed. She'd undoubtedly wanted him to lose control and hurt her, but he could never. Not with as much as he was beginning to care for her.

Trembling, Will reached between her thighs and attempted to rub her clit, but Abigail rolled away, returning to her side of the couch and propping her feet onto the coffee table. With a tired look on her face, Abigail began to vigorously rub her clit on her own, ever determined to do things by herself.

"You don't have to," Will whispered. "I could…"

"No." There were tears in her eyes now, and her chin quivered as her hand moved more aggressively between her thighs.

Gently touching between her shoulder blades, Will pressed a kiss to her temple and shook his head. "You don't have to do everything alone," he murmured. "You can depend on me."

"Clearly, I can't."

Will could tell by Abigail's tone that she didn't mean the sex. He'd failed her time after time after time, and overcome, Will took hold of her face and turned her head. Their eyes locked then – a shared molten pain – and Will kissed her. She tasted like ash, like eternal damnation, and as he drank of her with fierce desperation, he slipped his hand back between her thighs and took over. This time, Abigail let him.

It wasn't long before she became a shuddering, pleading mess, and as he finger-fucked her against his tweed pillows, he felt a raw, bone-melting satisfaction at her sharp cries. He devoured her moans in a kiss, and then she was shaking, soaring, and she spasmed hard around his flexing fingers. He licked her mouth, and then all was still.

With his forehead pressed to hers, Will breathed heavily and stroked her cheek with fondness. "Are you okay?"

No, Abigail wanted to scream, but instead, she mumbled a soft, "Better than usual."

Her tone wasn't derisive, so he smiled and ran his thumb over her lips. "Why me?" he asked again.

Expression softening, Abigail wrapped her arms around him and trembled, her cheek edging into his as her grip grew decidedly desperate.

The embrace, though ambiguous, resonated with Will and he nudged his cheek more strongly into hers. "Yeah," he whispered. "Me too."

**A/N:** I was feeling sad about Abigail never getting to be her own person, so this was born. I wanted to give her some agency and control, and to have Will finally see her and love her for who she is.


End file.
